


I'm Icarus, you're Icarus, we're all Icari; we all flew high, but you went way too high

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Fake AH Crew, Heist, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, OT6, my heisting skills aren't very good, will add tags if necessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geoff's in need of a sniper and Michael oh-so-graciously comes to the rescue, calling his friend. What he doesn't say, though, is just what kind of a person that friend, Ray, is. This can only end in a disaster.<br/>Ah, what the hell, they need a good sniper in their crew, anyway, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first heist

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a weed joke haha get it?//  
> Anyway, people requested that I make _Not what he seemed_ into a chaptered, long work, so here I am, delivering! Have fun!

“Close range will do nothing against the enforcers, though. We need a sniper,” Ryan points out, tapping his finger against the table.

Geoff groans, rubbing his forehead. “Jack?”

Jack shakes his head, pointing to the map spread on the table. It’s covered in red, black and blue; all the routes they’d take, all the routes they hopefully wouldn’t have to take, and chicken-scrawled notes. “I can’t. I’m handling the truck. Don’t have enough time to set up.”

Geoff groans again, louder this time. He barely doesn’t hit his face with the still uncapped marker he’s holding as he runs his fingers through his messy hair. It’s been a while since he did a bigger heist, and it is showing. Thankfully, no one dares to say half a word about it.

The apartment is silent as everyone waits for Geoff to come up with something. Silence isn’t something Geoff even thought possible with this rag-tag group of his. It’s eerie.

Finally, Michael seems to not be able to take it anymore and pipes up. “I can hook you up with someone. Top quality sniper.”

Geoff scrutinizes the redhead, then straightens up. “Who is it?”

“A friend of mine. Known him for years, he’s really good.”

Geoff glances at the map. “Call him.”

Michael’s face lights up with a wide smile and he immediately dials someone. All eyes are on him as he seems to be picked up. “Hey, Ray, I need your help with a job.”

Michael turns his grin to Geoff as he ends the call. “He said he’ll be here in half an hour.”

Geoff isn’t one hundred percent sure what he expects, but it sure as hell isn’t this. The boy shows up at their doorstep in exactly half an hour, eyes glued to a DS screen until Michael tackles him into a hug.

“Haven’t seen you in ages, Ray!” Michael exclaims, probably exaggerating.

“It’s been like three months,” Ray says. Definitely exaggerating, then.

Ray is only a hair’s breadth taller than Michael and looks like even Gavin could break him in two with a kick. There’s a hot pink sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, not even in a bag or something, just slung there for all to see. _How the fuck did no one see him?_ Geoff wonders. Sure, the police department of Los Santos might’ve been a fucking disgrace, but even they wouldn’t overlook a guy with a fucking sniper rifle on his back. Well, they do overlook Ryan, whatever he does, but that is a completely different scenario. They learned not to mess with Ryan.

This guy, though, isn’t Ryan, not by a long stretch.

“Geoff, this is Ray,” Michael says, catching his attention. “Ray, this is Geoff.”

Geoff extends his hand and Ray takes it, shaking it briefly. “Michael says you’re good. If that’s true, I’m glad to have you along.”

Ray mutters something noncommital and Michael points him to the living room. Either they have a magical bond or spent way too much time together, because Geoff couldn’t even understand what the Puerto Rican said.

They go over the plan again. Ray nods along, until they get to the sniper position.

He jabs his finger into the map. “If the truck comes from here,” he points to the road, “then I won’t get a clear shot at the driver until he passes you. But if I set up here,” now he points to the other side of road, at a small hill, “I’ll get a shot as soon as you stop him.”

Jack is the first one to speak up, Geoff a little too stunned that a hired help would object to his plan so blatantly. Michael isn’t reacting, though, as if it was the most natural thing. “You’ll be an easy target there.”

“Nah, the sun will be rising right at my ass. No one’ll see me,” Ray waves his hand.

“That’s actually really clever,” Ryan notes, looking at the map carefully.

“Sounds good to me,” Michael shrugs.

Gavin stands up. “Let’s go then. We’re burning nightlight.”

“We’re burning nightlight,” Ryan repeats, completely flabberghasted by the phrase that just left the Brit’s mouth.

“Yeah, that’s what I just said. We don’t have time.”

Geoff is still stunned a little that a decision was made without him, but he takes a swig of whiskey and they’re at the place in no time.

The set up is quick, mainly because all they have to do is position Jack’s truck so it can’t be seen and get Ray to his sniping position. Michael and Ryan get into one car and hide further up the road, and Geoff with Gavin get into the other and hide even further.

They secure their comms up and Geoff makes sure everyone can hear everyone. “Everyone ok?”

He counts four ‘yes’s and Ray’s ‘totally’ and then he’s satisfied. “Michael, do you have your explosives?”

“Yeah, got all the babies right here.” Geoff can clearly imagine the redhead patting his bag, especially when he lets out a low, “Ohh, yeah.”

Suddenly, Ray’s laughter echoes across the comm. “Save that for later,” he chuckles.

“I’ll save some for you too, if you want,” Michael shoots back right away.

“Sure.”

“Are you high?”

Ray pauses for a minute. “Just a little,” he says finally. “I’ve a clear shot, though. Ready anytime.” And with that, he goes essentially radio dead, not even his breath audible.

Geoff exchanges a look with Gavin, but the Brit just shrugs and rests his hands on the steering wheel. Geoff lets it slip and peeks at his watch. “The truck should arrive in about six minutes. I’ll tell you when to join, Ryan.”

“Alrighty,” Ryan replies. Gavin and Ryan start their engines at almost the same time.

Geoff glues his eyes to the back mirror and awaits the arrival of the armored truck. Their intel said it’d be carrying about three millions.

“That would be a lot of pancakes,” Gavin said when Geoff told the crew —he really wanted pancakes that morning, for some reason—, followed by a wolf whistle from Michael. “At least ten high stacks.”

“Well you aren’t wrong,” Ryan commented, wondering exactly how much the brunet had to drink the previous night.

“It’s coming. Pull out in a minute, Gav,” Geoff tells the younger man, pulling himself back into the present. “Ryan, get ready.”

“I’m always ready.”

Gavin pulls out and follows the armored truck as inconspicuously as he can. Ryan and Michael join them after a little while and Geoff tells Jack to create the barricade. Together, they box the truck in.

Michael hops out of the car and sprints to its door to attach his explosive to it.

“The glass might be bulletproof, but is it explosionproof?” Michael immediately asked when Geoff said his plan had only one hole: how to get the truck door open.

Michael hides behind the hood of Ryan’s car and presses the detonator. Geoff’s ears ring from the loudness of the explosion, but still he says into the comm, “Ray, when the smoke clears and you get a cle-”

He’s cut off by a loud crackle from Ray’s end of the comm, followed by a second one immediately afterwards. “Done,” Ray announces, putting his rifle away and scurrying down the small, but steep, hill.

Geoff doesn’t even have enough time to comprehend what just happened; there’s dust and smoke still settling down and Michael’s cheering, already preparing another explosive to get to the back of the truck.

“Hurry it,” Geoff says finally, watching as Michael detonates the second explosive and dives in almost too fast after it goes off. “Michael!” he chastices the redhead, but Michael fully ignores him and begins hauling bags to Ryan and Jack, who carry them into their own truck.

It takes them solid ten minutes, and by that time, Geoff’s already watching around anxiously and praying there won’t be any choppers coming after them.

“That’s the last one!” Michael calls and Geoff sighs out in relief. They just have to get into the closest safehouse and everything will be fine and Geoff will be able to get smashed. Heaven knows he needs it after this.

“Alright, get to the truck! Jack, pull out quickly!”

Geoff feels like he and Jack are herding small children the whole way; Gavin can’t stop giggling, Ryan’s coming up with absolutely ridiculous ways to spend all the money and Michael seems to be in his little high that he gets after he explodes stuff. Geoff can’t wait to get to the safehouse so he can kiss them all.

And then there’s Ray. He’s sitting by the window in the very back —thank god they had this truck/van hybrid custom made, Geoff thinks— looking out at the passing landscape. His hot pink rifle is stuck between his legs, hopping up and down at every bump in the road.

 _That was the cleanest sniping I’ve seen yet_ , Geoff thinks to himself, watching the Puerto Rican in the back mirror. The boy doesn’t even look like he just shot two fully armed people. Ray’s brown, emotionless eyes meet Geoff’s through the mirror and he grins lopsidedly.  
“See something you like?” Ray teases, then pulls out his DS and spends the rest of the ride playing his whatever.

"Three million dollars, huh?" Ryan mutters, fanning himself with a handful of the bills. His face paint is slightly smudged, but it still manages to look pretty good, somehow.

"It's probably a bit less. Some part had to get destroyed in the explosion," Ray deadpans, still not looking up from his DS. Geoff is starting to think he is addicted to video games.

"True," Jack nods along, stacking the bills into neat piles while Gavin tries to build a house out of the rolled up bills. They get three millions and this is the first thing they do with them? How did Geoff even get this group of idiots?

Three and a half glasses of whiskey later, Jack triumphantly holds up a duffel bag perfectly stuffed with the bills. Gavin still didn't manage to build his house of money, but he did manage to provide amusement for the others.

"Ray, here's your share," Jack says, handing the bag over.

Ray nods, absently tapping on his screen. "Yeah, I've seen you count it. Thanks." He stands up and slings his rifle over one shoulder and the bag over the other. "See ya."

"Do you want me to drive you?" Jack asks, frowning in concern as he so often does.

"Nah, I'm fine." Ray disappears with only the sound of the front door closing and the stupid, nameless song from his game stuck in Geoff's head.

"Someone will see him with those things," Ryan notes, absentmindedly running his hand through Gavin's messy hair. The Brit decided that Ryan's lap was the best spot to fall asleep, apparently.

"Nah," Michael waves his off. He picks up the TV remote and flicks it on. "Ray knows how not to be seen. Don't worry, he'll be fine," he reassures the vagabond.

"He's pretty cool," Gavin mutter, half asleep. He rolls over and buries his face into Ryan's stomach and goes right back to sleep.

"Yeah, I agree," Ryan nods. "Pretty good with the sniper rifle." He sounds impressed, almost envious, maybe.

Michael flips through the channels faster than he can probably see what's on. "We can just call him any time. He stays at home most of the time, anyway."

"We could use someone like him in the crew, couldn't we?" Jack says, turning to Geoff.

Geoff twirls his mustache around a finger, eyes boring into the TV screen. "Yeah, probably…"


	2. Getting used to the presence

Ray becomes their usual companion for heists. Geoff can't even remember how it came to that, but it's now a routine to call the Puerto Rican before anything requiring a sniper (and sometimes even some things that don't). Ray always shows up, his pink sniper rifle slung over his shoulder and a portable console of the day in hand.

When Geoff asked if he wanted to join the crew, his answer was a simple, “Sure.” It threw everyone for a loop. Everyone, except for Michael. But Michael seems to be used to anything Ray says or does.

Meanwhile Geoff still has a tough time believing some things Ray is capable of. For example, just last week, Michael challenged him to shoot the bird flying over them while they waited for a contact to show up. Gavin found the dead bird with a bullet hole straight through its small skull half an hour later. Or that time when Ray shot three people so quickly they didn't even notice the first one falling over.

He has no idea where Ray could've learned to use a sniper rifle like that, and the boy sure as hell isn't inclined to just tell him. Michael is of no help explaining either. He's starting to warm up to the boy, though. After the initial caution (which wasn't that big to begin with, since Michael said he knew him, but which is required in Geoff's field of work) wore off, he could fully appreciate Ray's skills. And not only the killing ones.

He is one of very few people who aren't bothered by Ryan's face paint at all, one of few people who don't tell Gavin he is dumb after one of his hypothetical questions (at least not so bluntly), one of the few people who don't tell him he'll kill himself by drinking so much. It is like Ray has a great deal of apathy towards everything, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Geoff learns quickly just how much Ray cares for his video games. Ray learns they have a few Xboxes in the safehouse and basically steals one, using it every time he stays over. Ray's gamerscore nearly makes him spill his drink onto himself when he reads it. "Five hundred thousand?! I didn't even think it was possible to have this high of a score!" he exclaims, earning himself a quiet chuckle from the younger boy.

"It is," Ray tells him and suddenly Geoff doesn't really care about his drink. He challenges Ray to a match of Halo.

Their banter during the game brings the others over almost like a candle would moths, and by the end of it, they’re all crowding on the couch, and some on the floor. Geoff gets his ass handed to himself on a silver platter, and it's glorious. He could live without the constant scorn from the others, though.

When Gavin’s taunting crosses the line of irritating to downright annoying, he forces Gavin to try and beat Ray himself. He stops making fun of Geoff after that.

Ray also cares for his gun a lot. It’s to be expected, but Ray takes it a bit too far, in Geoff’s opinion. He cleans it at least once a day and trains with it every other day. Michael is often the one who goes out with him, a duffel bag filled to the brim with bombs of all shapes and sizes slung over a shoulder. When he does, they don’t return until late at night, and there’re always reports of deaths and property damage all over the news the next day. Ryan’s ‘wall of faces’, as he dubbed it —it’s a wall in the living room that he reserved purely for cut-outs of their faces from the newspaper— is getting a lot of new pictures lately.

And Geoff also notices the change in his boy. Michael seems surprisingly giddy whenever Ray stays at their safehouse apartment and it makes Geoff wonder how close he really is with Ray. He often sees them exchanging inside jokes that no one else understands, or playing obscure games together.

It sparks a little ember of jealousy inside of him, but he knows Michael loves him and the others and he knows him and Ray go far back. Gavin, however, doesn’t seem to come to the same conclusion. He tries forcing himself between the two and even though they either don’t notice or don’t care, it’s painfully obvious to everyone else.

Geoff has the misfortune of overhearing one of their conversation when he goes to grab a sandwich one evening.

“So… you know we’re actually together, right?” Gavin asks, no tact or anything. Geoff wants to smack himself in the face and by the sound of it, Michael already did. That, or he hit Gavin.

“Yeah,” Ray replies, not even turning from the screen to look at the Brit.

Gavin turns to Michael, the perfect picture of bafflement written all over his face. “You told him?!”

The redhead shrugs nonchalantly. “He’s my friend. And it’s not like it’s a secret, anyway. All of Los Santos already knows,” Michael brushes him off.

Geoff crosses paths with Gavin in the hallway. “You’re such an idiot,” Geoff sighs, shaking his head.

It’s obvious Gavin wants to argue, but he deflates before he even opens his mouth. “It’s just… Michael’s spending so much time with him…”

Geoff raises an eyebrow. “Do you know how much time you spend with him?” Geoff offers him the extra beer he grabbed from the fridge. “Leave them be. We can do more fun things than play video games in the bedroom, anyway.”

The morning brings them Ray, wearing Jack’s ‘kiss the cook’ apron —which is absolutely too big for him—, standing by the stove and making pancakes. Geoff rubs his eyes because he’s mostly sure he’s still asleep, but no, Ray’s still standing there, still flipping the pancakes.

“What are you doing?” Ryan asks, appearing besides Geoff while he was too preoccupied with his thoughts.

“Pancakes,” Ray says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world (it is).

“Do you want kisses for them or something? What spurred this?” Geoff asks, sitting down at the table while Ryan goes to make himself coffee.

“Nah, leave those for Michael. I just needed to do something, but Michael was still asleep and I didn’t want to wake him up with game sounds,” Ray explains, moving the last pancake from the pan onto a plate. He places it on the table, next to the four others.

“What about yours?”

“I already ate.” The Puerto Rican takes off the apron and shoves it into Jack’s hands as he leaves the kitchen. Jack looks confusedly back and forth at him and at Geoff, trying to piece together what just happened.

Geoff just shakes his head.

“Man, that smells good!” Michael exclaims, leaning up and kissing Jack on his way to the table. He also kisses Geoff and Ryan when he’s close enough. He starts stuffing his mouth with the pancakes immediately after he pours maple syrup all over them. “Good job, Jack!” he says around a mouthful.

Jack frowns and says, “I didn’t make those. Ray did.”

“Oh.” Michael swallows and looks at the apron bundled in Jack’s lap. “Were his hands shaking?” he asks after a minute. Geoff scowls, thinking back, but for the life of him, he can’t remember.

“Yeah,” Jack says, though.

Gavin appears in the doorway just as Michael says, “He’ll be fine in a few days.”

Geoff squints at Michael, but the redhead doesn’t add anything else. Geoff swears he’ll get to the bottom of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a shorter chapter because i just couldn't squeeze anything else is there??  
> anyway, i'd like to point you to my blog where you can leave any suggestions and/or prompts-- [here!](http://onthespot.co.vu/)


	3. New safehouse

Geoff knows now is not the time for talking, much less talking about people or feelings, but he’d always had a knack for the worst timing possible. He turns to Jack, keeping an eye on the road and turns he makes.

He has to almost yell so Jack can hear him over the police siren blaring from behind them. “Hey, Jack!”

Jack turns to him, automatically reloading his assault rifle while he asks, “What is it?” It’s almost like he knows that whatever Geoff is about to ask will be utterly stupid and could absolutely wait until they regroup at a safehouse. Well, after all this time, how could he not?

“I know everyone in the crew, right?” he asks, swerving to the right so abruptly that his tires let out a hellish screech. He successfully suppresses a wince. “Throw a grenade,” he adds, glaring through the back mirror at the persistent police car. It’s not worth it, he thinks, nope. If they had any common sense left, they would’ve left them alone five blocks ago.

Jack fishes out a grenade from a bag between his legs and expertly throws it out of the window, without getting shot or falling out of the car. “What is this about? Of course you know everyone in the crew. It’s your crew.”

“That’s not what I mean!” Geoff groans and after another block, skids to a halt as quietly as he can. “Go get the boys, I’ll get the cars.”  
Jack runs up the stairs faster than Geoff can get to the underground parking lot. Taking the cars out in front of the house is almost like a second nature to him now; he can do it even as the thoughts of Ray plague his mind.

Of course you know everyone in the crew. It’s your crew. Geoff taps his fingers against the steering wheel of whatever car he had chosen to drive. Jack is right. Geoff knows all his boys like the back of his hand, and it’s about the time he knows about Ray, as well. After all, Ray is his boy now, too.

Michael came to them with the idea of taking Ray into the crew. Not just into the crew, but into the crew. No one was opposed, really (not even Gavin, who took the longest to warm up to the sniper), and Ray’s answer was, as with everything, a shrug and a, “Sure.”

Geoff might not be a psychiatrist (not that those ever did anything good anyway), but even he knows Ray’s acting isn’t normal, especially with the looks Michael so often sends his way, somehow somber. He wants to know what happened to the lad, what made him be so impassive.

He trains his eyes to the front door when it flies open, his boys, all carrying bunches of bags, running down the stairs and splitting into the three cars he had prepared. He’s speeding even before Jack has the chance to fully close the car door.

Car chases – not that the police were still following them in the car that most probably blew up – always have this tense atmosphere to them that Geoff dislikes. No one jokes and everyone’s eyes are darting all around. The comms set up in the cars are too quiet.

Jack starts checking his guns about midway and Geoff counts down the miles till they get to the next safehouse. He’ll send Lindsay to secure that one later; he liked it a lot.

This one is smaller and carries a slightly dusty smell. Everything seems so unfamiliar, but no one comments on it – they’re used to changing houses a lot, but the latest one was an exception. They’d spent way too long there, became way too familiar.

They set their things down and go about their business. As Geoff dials Lindsay’s safe phone, he can see the lads taking up the living room and the other gents discussing a grocery run. Michael and Gavin take a seat on the sofa and – Geoff almost doesn’t believe his own two eyes – Ray lies across, resting his head in Gavin’s lap. He’s tapping away on the PS Vita, but seems completely content.

Huh. Geoff pauses as the phone keeps ringing the tone. Maybe Ray just needed a little time to warm up to them. Or maybe he just wasn’t good with his emotions.  
“Yeah?” echoes in his ear, barely audible along the cacophony of shooting sounds in the background.

“Hey, Linds. I need you to secure a safehouse for us. Got chased out of it.”

Lindsay yells out an unintelligible command and then replies, “Alright. Which one is it?”

“The one on Peaceful street.”

Lindsay’s snort is followed by a laughter. “Yeah, things were pretty peaceful there for a while, haven’t they?”

The corners of Geoff’s lips curl up into a smile, even as he asks, “How much time do you spend with Barbara?”

“Los Santos’ streets are so dumbly named. But she would’ve thought of something better.”

“Yeah, she would’ve. Get to it and keep me posted, Lindsay.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Lindsay jokes and Geoff can hear even more yells before she hangs up. He isn’t sure whether she way at a shooting practice or a holdup. He isn’t sure he wants to know, honestly.

Jack speaks up, sticking his head into the living room. “Who wants to go to the grocery store with us? Anyone? Geoff, Gavin, Michael, Ray?”

Ray flinches, turning his head to look in Jack’s direction. Geoff locks eyes with Michael and he immediately knows.

“I’ll go,” he says.

Ray didn’t need a little time to warm up to them, he already did. He wasn’t bad with his emotions. This was something different.


	4. Resolve

Ray is broken.

Every day, he’s reminded of it when the others wake up and he’s already in the living room, tapping away on a 3DS in an attempt to tap away his problems, because it was too much, too much skin, too much touch- he couldn’t breathe and he hated it. He’s reminded of it when Jack shouts for him, asking if he’d seen his keys (because they were together the last time he saw them) and he flinches at the volume, swallowing hard before he can even think of answering. He’s reminded of it when Geoff throws him that look of his, full of pity, and something else that Ray doesn’t want to think about, and Ray hates it.

He hates that there are still pieces of him, broken shards with edges sharper than razors, strewn all over the floor and he can’t help stepping over them time and time again.

It’s been full months since he broke and he still couldn’t pick them up, still couldn’t forget and move on, no matter how hard he tried. And did he try.

But everything reminded him of it; every hug Gavin tackled him into was like a vice at first and Ray could feel the phantom pain of his hands held together by one, tugged in a way that made his shoulders sting and nerves burn. Every pat on the back by Jack was accompanied by the faraway pain of a knife slicing through his flesh and tearing a scream out of him. Every yell of his name had him flinching, waiting for the blow he expected afterwards.

It had been months since he was in that chair, bound and blindfolded, but it almost feels like he never left. Like it’s still following him wherever he goes, haunting him like a stupid, goddamned ghost.

He looks through the scope, tries concentrating on the small, dark box Michael set up at the bottom of an abandoned building, but his hands are shaking and not even his shoulder can stabilize the sniper rifle. He pulls away, shaking his head. “I can’t do it. Just use the detonator,” he says, looking up at the redhead.

Michael lets out something dangerously akin to a whine, but he fishes out a small box and presses a button on it. Ray looks, not through his scope for once, as the explosive goes off, a giant flash of bright light that hurts his eyes the longer he looks at it. So Michael went with flashy today. The explosive isn’t enough for the whole building to collapse, but a good chunk of the wall is gone, rubble covered in clouds of dust and smoke.

Michael might be a pyromaniac, but really, can Ray claim he isn’t? Ray can appreciate a good explosion. And Michael, Michael knows how to make a good explosion. Ray can remember, back before the Fake AH Crew, back before he broke, him and Michael used to blow up a lot more. Almost every day something would end up in charred bits all over the place.

They even got caught twice by the CCPD. Ray would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised that Michael somehow managed to smuggle explosives into the holding cell and blew them out. It was impressive, really.

“Ray?” Michael’s voice is soft, but fully audible, even as Ray’s ears still ring from the explosion. “What’s wrong?”

Ray sighs, but pulls himself into a cross-legged sit. Michael drops down in front of him. His face is devoid of the usual, shit-eating grin that adorns it after he blows up something. In its place is a small frown, fiery eyes boring into Ray intently. He knows Michael is very much giddy inside, but he’s slightly thrown off to be questioned like this, out of the blue.

Michael pats his thigs and Ray obediently seats himself on the other’s lap, feeling Michael’s arms wrap around him like a blanket. Here he is reminded of how broken he is again – if this were anyone else, Ray wouldn’t’ve felt safe; he would’ve ran away, probably.

“Talk to me,” Michael prompts.

Ray takes in a shaky breath and rests his face on Michael’s chest. The steady _thump, thump, thump_ of his heart is more relaxing that he’s willing to admit. “I can’t forget,” he says simply. He knows Michael understands by the tensing of his arms.

“Dude, Ray. You don’t have to forget. It was a pretty fucking big thing. No one wants you to forget.”

“ _I_ want to forget,” Ray sighs. “I love you and the guys but it’s just so goddamn hard not to break down every day.”

The pieces of him are still all over the floor and it feels like he has to ballet between them. The problem, of course, is that he has no idea how to ballet. He wants to pick them up and glue them back together somehow, but he can’t because every time he tries, he only manages to fall head-first into a pile of shards. And then there’s Michael, swooping down and picking them up in handfuls with a smile on his face. The redhead presses a kiss to his forehead and Ray’s heart fills with warmth he didn’t think anyone in his field of work could feel.

Michael’s words are like dripping honey, sweet and reassuring. “Then do so at your own pace. It’s only been a few months. If you tell the guys, I’m sure they would be more than willing to help out.”

“N-“ Ray takes another shaky breath and shakes his head. “No. Don’t tell them. Please.”

He couldn’t take the looks he’s sure he’d get if they all knew. The last thing he needs from anyone, much less men he loved, is pity. Even just Michael knowing made him feel bad sometimes; he knows how Michael watches him when he thinks Ray isn’t looking. It isn’t pity, but it is something that makes his insides churn uncomfortably.

“Okay, I won’t. But you’ll have to, sooner or later. Relationships like ours don’t do well with big secrets, y’know.”

“Later, please. But I will,” Ray promises, sounding more sure of everything.

“That’s all I wanted to hear. Now, let’s go home, Jack’s not gonna be happy if we miss dinner after saying we’d come.”

“Right.”

He stands and helps Michael up as well. He slings his sniper rifle over his shoulder, barely making sure to put safety on after Michael cast him a dirty glance that he replies to with a stuck out tongue.

They throw their stuff into the trunk of Michael’s car and hop in, Michael briefly checking his phone for any missed calls or texts. When it turns out he has none, he leans over and presses his lips against Ray’s. The Puerto Rican buries his hand in Michael’s curls automatically, breathing out a low sigh as he almost melts against the other boy. 

“Sorry to put such a dent in your explosion high,” Ray smiles sheepishly when they part, buckling himself.

Michael looks at him with a grin splitting his face. His eyes are sparkling. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t put a dent in anything! Did you see that explosion, it was top notch! The sound’s still ringing in my ears!”


	5. Working on comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry if this chapter doesn't exactly hold up to par with the others, i haven't been very motivated the past couple days (real world is a scary place, boohoo)

Geoff comes home with a bag of ammo, blood on his suit and hair tousled more than usual. He chucks the bag into the plan room and makes his way upstairs to get changed. He makes a stop by the living room couch, greeting his lads, who are sprawled all over it playing Mario Kart, with kisses. They greet him with smiles, except for Michael, who yells at him for obstructing his view.

He shakes his head and ruffles the redhead’s messy curls even more and finally goes upstairs, the feeling of the drying blood already way past uncomfortable. He leaves the dirty suit in a heap by the laundry basket, knowing it is his turn to do the laundry and not particularly looking forward to it, if he was being completely honest.

He takes a quick shower to relax his tense muscles and is out before any one of his boys demand access to the toilet (which is a rarity, with all five –six– of them).

He puts on the first clothes he finds, which happen to be Jack’s sweats and a dark shirt with a graphic design. He’s not sure whose that shirt is.

He rubs his hair with a towel absently as he descends the stairway. He pauses, however, when he gets to the door to the living room.

The boys are talking, and he doesn’t want to interrupt them. Yet.

“Ray, you should totally move in here,” Michael says.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Michael,” Ray sighs, but Gavin’s already chirping over him.

“Oh, that’d be top!” he exclaims.

Michael snorts. “Yeah, Ray. It’d be top. But really, it’s safer for you with us.”

“As if I ever was safe.”

“Plus, you get to be with us twenty-four seven.”

Geoff peeks through the doorway to see Ray pondering it. Finally and with a sigh, he nods. “You’re right. I’ll talk to Geoff about it later.”

Geoff wants to go in there right that second and tell him that he can be wherever he wants to, hell, he can even take his own room, but he doesn’t. Instead, he goes to the kitchen and gets a beer.

Jack’s there, laptop set on the working space and a mug of coffee in his hands. “Hey,” he says, smiling at Geoff in that way that made the older man fall in love with him.

“Hey,” he replies, capturing Jack’s lips in a passionate kiss that leaves them both breathless when they finally part. “Ray’s moving in.”

Jack rises an eyebrow, but Geoff can tell he’s just surprised. “He is?”

“Yeah. He’ll come talk to me about it ‘later’,” Geoff grins.

“Were you eavesdropping on the lads?”

“Not intentionally.”

Jack chuckles, even as he playfully swats at Geoff’s arm. “You never do it intentionally.” The sarcasm is practically dripping from his voice and Geoff only offers a giant, shit-eating grin.

He goes back to the living room, contemplating joining in on the Mario Kart, but he stops stunned at the door again.

The playful banter that echoed through the floor is gone, replaced by faint dialogue from the TV. Geoff peeks into the living room and has to blink a few times to make sure he is awake. Ray manages to surprise him even when he would’ve bet he couldn’t.

The Puerto Rican is curled on the sofa like a cat, head nestled on Gavin’s lap and face buried into the blond’s stomach. Michael is brandishing the TV remote, switching the channels in search of something entertaining.

“Well, holy shit,” Geoff breathes, and the boys’ heads turn to him.

They both frown at him, pressing index fingers to their mouths almost simultaneously. If Geoff didn’t think it adorable, it might’ve even been a bit unnerving.

“Don’t wake him, dude,” Michael says, turning back to the TV.

Geoff shakes his head with a bright smile and goes to the kitchen to get a beer.

Ray surprises him and the others like this a lot more over the next few weeks.

Though Geoff can (very easily) tell that Ray isn’t too comfortable with it, he starts to get a little more hands-on. He catches the lads cuddling in the morning; sees Ray leaning on Michael while the redhead prepares his explosives of the day; sees him make out with Ryan, all hands and breathy moans (though that might’ve partially been the weed’s fault) later in the evening.

He has the boy in his lap the next morning, sipping orange juice through a bendy straw (Geoff reminds himself that they are criminals – the best criminals in Los Santos, in fact) and playing – _re_ playing – Pokemon on his DS. He doesn’t even react to Geoff pressing sloppy kisses to his shoulder, save for the occasional, satisfied sigh.

He does, however, jump when Michael calls him for their routine pyromania day. Geoff can see how hard his hands shake after Michael pops into the kitchen. Geoff can feel how hard Ray’s heart is beating.

Geoff watches them leave with a rueful smile. He thinks he knows what’s ‘wrong’ with Ray. Really, it isn’t that unusual in their field of work, so Geoff isn’t sure why it didn’t click sooner.

He wants to puke.

He also wants to kill someone.


	6. Reassurance

Ray stirs from his slumber, slowly and blearily opening his eyes. He blinks a few times, but the darkness surrounding him doesn't dispel like he expects it to. It stays exactly as inky as during the midnight, taunting him with unreal pictures that vanish when his gaze flicks to them.

As Ray realises it will not go away any time soon, sensations flood his being. His head pounds and there's something warm and sticky on the back of his neck. His wrists and ankles ache; he can't move them, no matter how hard he tries. In fact, trying to move them only results in agitating the wounds underneath the binds. He hisses in pain and slumps back against the back of the chair he's bound to.

He's not sure how long he sits there in the darkness and silence only broken by his quiet, shallow breathing, but by the ache in his shoulders it's pretty long.

There are wet spots on the fabric blindfolding him and tear tracks running down his cheeks. He can't stop them.

A door opens somewhere to his right, Ray's head snapping to the source of the sound. He involuntarily shudders as heavy footsteps echo in the room.

His blindfold is yanked off, the sudden brightness of everything around aggravating Ray's pounding headache. He looks up to see a man scowling down at him. His gaze wanders to the knife in his hand and immediately he knows where it's going.

"Ray!" the guy roars, waving the knife around like a mad man.

The first cut stings like a bitch, and not only because Ray's pain threshold is pretty low. The guy knows what he's going. He also knows which questions are the right ones to ask, Ray thinks absentmindedly. The words thrown at him, a mixture of curses, slurs and actual questions, blur in his muddled mind until they as almost like a fly's buzz.

He can't talk. That's the only thing on his mind, the only solid thread in the sea of cuts and blows. He can't talk. He can't out Michael. There's a dull ache in his face, and maybe his nose is broken? He's not sure, there's pain everything and it's hard to pinpoint it.

He spits the metallic tasting blood down at his captor's shoes and earns himself another punch to the jaw and an onslaught of derogatory yells.

He keeps his mouth shut, letting the small trickle of blood from his busted lip roll down his chin and drip down to his ruined shirt.

The guy is just about tired of his shit, and Ray is left alone for a few long moments. He tries to catch his breath, but it's hard because his chest hurts with every deep inhale and he doesn't want to irritate it in case it is actually broken or something.

Ray isn't used to such pain, but he thinks he did pretty well considering; he chucked a few backhanded compliments about the guy's punches, didn't scream like a bitch and didn't say anything about Michael. He counts it as a victory.

It was just him and Michael and he's not going to betray his best friend to get a few punches less. He wishes Michael would find him and get him out because no matter what he thinks, no matter how well he thinks he's handling it, his body just isn't cut out for taking a beating like this. He absently notices his fingers shaking like leaves behind his back.

Just when he thinks he finally got his heartbeat to a normal level, the guy returns, holding a steaming bucket with something inside.

"Oh no," Ray breathes out, eyes wide like platters as he watches the guy pull the metal brand out of the boiling water. "No, no no no no!" he cries, fresh tears stinging his broken skin as they roll down. "No!"

The guy's smirk makes him want to puke his guts out, especially when the brand gets closer and closer to his stomach by the second.

"No, please no, no no no!"

His broken, pathetic pleas go ignored and the hot metal presses against his skin and he's screaming properly, whole body twitching with searing pain that floods all his nerves. He thrashes, but it doesn't help with his restraints.

Through his own screams and the blood pounding in his ears, he can faintly hear the guy laughing.

 _Where's Michael?_ Where's Michael when he needs him?

"Ray!" Ray isn't sure if he's so far gone that he's hallucinating, but that sounded exactly like Michael. His wails turn into broken sobs. "Ray!"

He startles awake to find himself held down by a pair of strong hands, breathing erratic and heart hammering out of his chest. He panics, scratching the hands that hold his shoulders pinned down.

"Ray, stop!" Geoff tells him and his heart pauses momentarily.

He slumps against the sweat-soaked bed covers, limp in Geoff's hold. His heart is hammering so loud he's sure not only Geoff can hear it, but the others as well. He cocks his head to the side and sees all the other men sitting on the edge of their giant bed, all in various degrees of worry.

Michael's by his side, not holding him down like Geoff, just sitting by his him and running his fingers through Ray's sweaty hair. He almost wants to laugh. Almost.

"You okay, Ray?" Geoff asks, hands leaving Ray's shoulders slowly, reluctantly.

The Puerto Rican sits up, albeit somehow shakily. "Yeah, just a nightmare."

"No shit," Michael quips, rolling his eyes.

"You want to talk about it? " Geoff asks again, fully ignoring Michael's remark.

"No," Ray answers too quick. He glances at Michael, who's frowning at him with that look in his eyes that tells Ray he just said something stupid. "Yes…"

They migrate to the kitchen and Jack volunteers to make them some choco. They all crowd around the table and wait for Ray to tell them what he needs to.

"Thanks, Jack," Ray mutters with a small smile when he's handed a mug of warm chocolate (with a splash of honey and cinnamon, it's Jack's famous). He takes a sip and the others follow his example. Already, he feels a lot better.

"Okay, so…" He's not really sure where to start, so he looks to Michael for help (just like always). The redhead offers him a reassuring smile and nods. "So me and Michael used to do jobs together, just the two of us. That was like, a year ago? I don't know, before he joined your crew. But yeah, we were on a job and somehow a guy from the group we were wiping out managed to sneak up on me on a roof and he knocked me out and took me. He beat me up, you know the deal. Except it was a first time and it scarred me." He started laughing, running his hand through his hair as the others looked on with confused concern. "Literally. He branded me," Ray explained.

Ryan stands up abruptly, murder shining clear in his eyes. "Who is he?" he asks.

"David McDead," Michael tells him, tugging his jacket to make him sit down again. "Did you think I didn't kill him when I got my Ray back?"

"Yeah, Michael got me out. I still have nightmares about it, though. That's why I didn't think it was a great idea for me to move in with you."

"I think we can take your nightmares," Gavin says, with the resolution of them all. "I mean, a lot of us get nightmares."

"Yes, and we'll make sure you don't remember that fucker," Ryan agrees. He's the one to have frequent nightmares as well.

"You could've told us sooner," Jack smiles ruefully.

Ray shrugs and takes another sip of the cocoa. "I haven't told anyone before you. But I'm glad I did."

He really is, especially when they're back in the bed, limbs tangled together so much that he's not sire where one ends and another begins. But that's fine, because they won't let that happen again, Ray knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's the end! i kinda think it sounds rushed, but oh well. feel free to leave any and all prompts for future fics on my tumblr (teamtheotherguys)!

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't have a set schedule for this fic yet (and probably never will have), but I will post chapters as soon as I write them! Leave your feedback, it helps a lot!


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